


Burn Bright

by infiniteandsmall



Series: if their Heaven ain't got a vacancy [1]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Badbrains, Found Family, Gen, Gender Issues, Genderqueer Character, Killjoys family 4eva, Mental Health Issues, Queer Themes, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 17:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3142316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteandsmall/pseuds/infiniteandsmall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He-e-ey, look alive, I’m comin’ in hot, station 00. ” The crackly voice over the HAM radio clashed with the sounds of tinny punk music on the AM radio. M would know that voice anywhere, so it didn’t matter that Ghoul had forgotten to give his number. It was mostly dark in the guard shack, and the quick smile spreading over G’s face was sliced with sharp green light from outside the window.<br/>~<br/>Before Kobra Kid, there was M, and zir brother G, and an itch under zir skin, and a feeling zie was still too close to the name zie'd been given. Part one of a continuing series about an origin story for the Fabulous Killjoys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn Bright

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this fic for the trans kobra fest over on tumblr and I really liked it (and wrote a continuation of it!) and so I'm posting it here. The Party/Ghoul is really really lightly implied and practically nonexistent so I think even if you hated the ship this would still be tolerable? But yeah, here you go: no triggers that I can think of but since it's very fiction-as-a-means-to-work-through-my-own-gender-and-badbrains-issues there's probably some wonky thinking.

“He-e-ey, look alive, I’m comin’ in hot, station 00. ” The crackly voice over the HAM radio clashed with the sounds of tinny punk music on the AM radio. M would know that voice anywhere, so it didn’t matter that Ghoul had forgotten to give his number. It was mostly dark in the guard shack, and the quick smile spreading over G’s face was sliced with sharp green light from outside the window.

“Hey, Fun Ghoul!” G said. “How’s it kicking?”

“Eh, coulda been sunnier, but you know me.”

“Carry on through cartilage, bullet boy.” G was doing the twisting thing he did with his lip when he teased, and even though M felt firecracker anticipation of life beyond the shack, zie also felt nervousness pooling inside zie’s stomach.

“Hi,” M said.

“Hi, yourself, M76,” Ghoul calls. “Well, anyways, I’m winging your way, and I’m bringing chocolate, so you better wait up for me!”

“You know the key to my heart,” M says, and it comes out like zie wanted, deep and dry but fond.

Ghoul might not be the oldest zonerunner on the block, but he knows that the key to any stationguard’s heart is chocolate, mixtapes, and gossip, and Ghoul never disappoints.

G pries the window open a crack and sticks his head out. The desert air is chilly at night, sharp as the edges of the Milky Way. M’s in zir binder, jeans, and a tank top, and goosebumps prick over zir arms. Rubbing them away, zie says softly, “You’ve missed him.” Dark desert nights when the air is cold and old friends are driving their way makes both of them soft. It’s why, maybe, M thinks, that they stay here in the guard house. Maybe cause runners can’t afford to get soft no matter how wide the empty the desert looks around them.

“Yeah.” G says softly.

The sound of Ghoul’s motorcycle is a distant thrum, like bass strings long after a note has been plucked.

~

G sleeps in late the next morning. He’s taken to that lately, black hair falling over his face and sticking to his chapped lips. Station 00 is sort off the pavement and it’s rare to get visitors. They were all up late last night, splitting the chocolate and gossiping, but M had gone to sleep at about half past twelve and zie knows that Ghoul and G were up a lot later. Ghoul had probably made a disgustingly mushy mixtape that G would still have to share with M, because mixtapes were precious, but that G would blush through the entire time it was on. They’d probably sat out, bundled up, listening to the mixtape and looking at the stars and G rambling about narratives and old science fiction and socks.

M tells zirself that is why G is sleeping so late today, just like zie tries to make excuses every other day. But it’s harder to pretend, with Ghoul there giving M knowing looks. M still hasn’t even brought up zir new pronouns, though Ghoul had taken to using them after hearing G use them.

“He’s not doing so well, is he?” Ghoul says as they trek out to the lightpost, G still asleep in the guard shack.

“Well enough.” M shrugs.

“M, he hasn’t been this lost since he was fresh out of the lights.”

The lights. The city. It still makes M’s skin itch, right underneath zir chest. “Maybe. But it’s not like I know what to do, anyways.”

Ghoul studies zir for one long second, then takes out his silver spraypaint and starts shimmying higher up the lightpost. This is tradition, and M remembers being fresh out of the lights zirself, just zie and zir’s brother, lost and alone and afraid. M remembers Show Pony, and getting the guardhouse, and meeting Ghoul and Jet and all the other zonerunner friends they’ve made. Zie remembers it like a photograph, the first time, before Ghoul had left, when he’d brought out the red spray paint and drawn the huge spider on the lightpost. M remembers how it had felt rebellious and free, and so, so, unlike the city, but now, looking at the lightpost almost full of spray-painted drawings, zie feels trapped.

Ghoul jumps down, and when M looks up, zie can see a sharp edged smiling face glinting metallic in the morning sun, already hot on their backs. Sweat tickles M’s back under zir binder, and zie unhooks it for a minute to scratch, enjoying the sudden burst of easy air.

“Zie, right? Zie, zir’s?” Ghoul says. M nods.

“Okay. I didn’t wanna be fucking it up.” They walk in silence through the dust for a few more steps.

“I think you’re ready, M76,” Ghoul said, quiet.

“I kinda think I am, too,” M says, even quieter.

~

G’s up when they get back, hunched over the radio. There’s something fast on but something stalled in G’s shoulders. At least there’s food of some sort bubbling on the stove, and M can smell the coffee reheating. Zie thinks zie’s up for another mug.

“So, when are you leaving, Ghoul?” G says. He sounds resigned, but M can only tell that because often analyzing G’s tones is the only interesting thing to do on long dark nights.

“Um.” Ghoul has a forkful of Power Pup halfway to his mouth and another forkful shoved in his mouth. There is chocolate on the corners of his lips. “I was thinking, Um. Not for a while?”

G makes a sputter noise on his coffee. It’s amusing. Who needs BL/ind sitcoms when M has an older brother?

“Like, maybe until we can get the Trans-Am fixed up? I’m not awful at the kinda stuff and I was thinking we could radio Jet about it cause he’s like a damn fuckin’ genius at anything mechanical and—“

“Wait, the Trans-Am?” G is about niches away from knocking his mug of coffee over. M scoots it away from the edge of the table. “Why?”

“I don’t know, I just thought maybe…like, I wasn’t sure…” Ghoul trails off and swirls his fork in his breakfast.

“We’re leaving the guardhouse soon,” M says. It’s not that zie’s a particularly blunt person. But. Well. Zie is. And it’s partly because the longer the two of them go on, the harder and harder M’s heart thumps against zir ribcage.

G’s mouth is a small o. Ghoul is chewing on his lips. M thinks about it. Thinks about no more long nights when there’s nothing to think about but how uncomfortable zie is, with zir hips and zir boobs. Thinks about how zir hands would feel on a steering wheel. Thinks of G asleep with his face covered past noon.

“It’s time,” M says, and G just looks into his coffee cup.

~

Jet’s close by when they get ahold of him, says he’d be happy to swing by and that he’s missed them. Jet is always so solid and so Jet and hopefully he will break the awkward silence that’s descended upon them since breakfast.

After they get the things put away G says he wants to work on some painting and pointedly spreads his things over the entire table, leaving no room for them to sit. So they take the AM radio with them and sit in the garage with the dusty grey Trans-Am, Ghoul tinkering under the hood and M supervising and manning the radio while Ghoul grumbles at zir.

~

When they get back inside, G hurriedly sweeps up the drawings. M doesn’t mention it. Neither does Ghoul. G always processes things through art. Sometimes those processes involve drawing the people he’s mad at dying horrible deaths. Usually it doesn’t because drawing horrible deaths is cool looking to draw and so why would he waste his time drawing people he’s mad at being cool looking?

~

G’s still asleep when M and Ghoul wake up the next morning. They take the AM radio and coffee pot into the garage and set to work again. M nods when Ghoul tells zir what the various bits of metal under the hood do and tries to get a map of it in zir mind.

There’s a slow song on the radio, an old song. G sings it sometimes. Ghoul looks all wistful about it, his eyes getting soft on the edges.

“Oh, M76. The adventures the two of you are gonna have without me.” He abandons his hoodratting and sinks to his back on the hard concrete of the garage.

M doesn’t exactly know what to say to that, but silence doesn't seem to fit the situation. It just seems to make Ghoul get gooier.

“Why do you call me M76, anyways? Isn’t that, like, a gun?” Zie says.

“Well, kinda.” Ghoul props himself up on one elbow. “It is a gun, and a badass gun. But it’s also the name of a galaxy. Messier’s M76. When it was originally found, it was one of the hardest to see on Messier’s list. But as the years past, it got brighter and brighter. It’s been getting brighter since 2016 and it doesn’t seem intent on stopping.”

M is kind of oddly touched. Ghoul can be a hardass, but deep down he’s a marshmallow. It’s not like zie’s gonna tell Ghoul any of that now, of course. “Nerd,” zie teases. “Where’d you learn all that?”

Ghoul shrugs. “Show Pony’s wild about the stars and shit. They’ve got a fuckload of books at Doctor D’s about it. I thought it fit you. Cause. You know. You’re you. And also you think that Show Pony’s the coolest thing on the block since spraypaint, which isn’t wrong. And also.” Ghoul pauses. He’s got that dumb shit eating grin on his face that means he’s gonna bust through with some kinda insult, and it makes joy rise around M’s ribs because it means home and family, like when zie runs zir fingers through G’s hair and they come away sticky with paint, or Jet’s high giggle.

“And also, its nickname is Little Dumbbell.” Ghoul bursts out laughing, rolling around on the concrete.

“Fun Ghoul, I am gonna smash your face in,” M growls, but zie’s laughing too. Zie unhooks half zir binder to give zirself more breathing room and goes in on him.

~

Jet arrives the next morning, and they carry on, uneasy peace but it’s peace and it’s bright with the promise of things happening. G still sweeps his drawings off the table but when they sit around playing cards and night and laughing, when M sees the stoplight on their lightpost reflect green and yellow and red on their faces, it feels so close to something zie’s afraid zie doesn’t have room in zir chest for.

And the winter is long and cold-hot by turns but progress on the Trans-Am starts inching forward, and it’s itching nervousness under M’s skin but also excitement pumping in zir blood. They start taking it out for test drives, the four of them and an old grey Trans-Am, and they inch further and further away from the guardhouse.

G still doesn’t say anything about it. Still thinks. They practically have to drag him out of bed to go to Pink Station Zero, but he does go.

~

Pink Station Zero is one of the biggest clubs in the Zones. It’s slightly off the pavement from the guardhouse, but like the guardhouse it’s still in Zone 0, the deepest Zone and one of the several that dracs never reach. As such, it’s not as populated but it a great place for a party.

M loves it, the lights, the thump of the music in zir’s bones, and, yeah, making out in a corner with an attractive stranger with red and blue striped hair and a wide bright big-toothed smile is a plus. Ghoul and G immediately slam the gas for the other side of the club, a roomful of slides and tubes made of welded and graffitid metal that’s supposed to be the area for kids. Dorks. Although M wouldn’t be averse to joining them. Slides are fun for all ages, and zie would pay real money to see zir brother get stuck in one of the tubes.

M is nursing zir drink and thinking about it when zie hears the screams.

“Dracs!” Someone calls, and the word moves through the crowded room like a BL/ind modified bee, stringing everyone into panic. The middle of the dance floor looks like a stampede. M’s heart beats fast, and zie’s hands are shaking. Zir glass drops, and zie runs for the door. Jet’s there already.

“G and Ghoul,” M pants. “We need to find them!”

Jet’s eyes get wide. “Shit.” He pulls his laser from its holster and they head for the back door of the kiddie area. There’s two bodies lying on the ground and a blur of three people in a fight. One is a drac, M can tell by the solid white, and the other two are—

“It’s G and Ghoul.” Zir head feels cold. “Jet, we need to do something—“

The drac falls to the ground. Ghoul is breathing hard, and G is cradling something in his arms.

Ghoul kneels and presses his fingers to the couple’s wrists, and M tries to hold back a scream. Zie knows they’re dead, and when Ghoul stands up with his mouth set in a firm line it confirms zir’s thoughts.

“C’mon, we need to get to the car. Jet, cover us?” Ghoul says, and they run for it.

It’s not until they’re speeding away, flames flickering in their rearview mirror, that M realizes what G’s holding.

“Holy shit. That’s a kid?” M says.

“Shhh. They’re sleeping.” G says.

“Where’d you—oh. Were they by the—?”

“Yeah,” Ghoul says. “They were probably their kid. But—they’re dust.”

“The kid isn't,” G says fiercely. There’s something different in his eyes.

~

The girl sleeps. They’re young, no older than seven, with a headful of hair nearly as big as Jet’s, a small wide nose, and big arched eyes.

They sit up all night, watching, and waiting, but the dracs never come. As usual, they go to the garage while G sleeps, curled up on the floor on a pile of blankets. The girl sleeps in his bed. The Trans-Am is good to go, and so they listen to the radio, numb as Doctor D reports last night’s body count.

When they go inside, G is nowhere to be seen, but there are suspicious knocking sounds from the bathroom. The girl is still asleep. M feels a fierce spasm of protectiveness shivering over zir back. It’s something zie’s felt about G, and Ghoul, and Jet.

“G? Are you in there?” M says.

“Yeah!” G says.

“Um. Are you alright.”

“Dandy,” G says, and throwing the door open.

“Oh my fucking—“ Ghoul mutters.

G’s hair is fucking E line red, traffic light red, gas can red. It looks like he spraypainted his goddamn head. It’s glorious and alive and zonerunner and M suddenly wants to either cry or hug zir brother so hard he gets lifted off the floor, zie can’t decide.

“Where’d you get the dye, man?” Ghoul says, shoving past M into the bathroom. M is still frozen, a smile on zir face. G is smiling back. “Um. Last night? Before shit went Costa Rica, y’know.” G shrugs, and then takes a deep breath. “Um. I got some for you, M? And I made some sketches? Um, I don’t know if you wanna see them or—“

“Of course,” M says.

G spreads them out on the table, and M looks. It’s the two of them, but it’s not the two of them that were driving home last night from a burning club. G’s hair is the same bright red he’s just dyed it as, and he’s wearing tight jeans, a yellow mask, and blue jacket. A laser hangs from a holster on his hip. M has a laser too, and tight jeans and a red jacket. Zie carries a helmet under zir arm, shiny and red and yellow, and has on a tank top that fits like zir favorite one, the one that shows off the muscles in zir arms, but this tank top is bright yellow with black stripes. Zie has on kickass boots and a laser holster just like G’s, but what really gives zir pause is zir hair. It’s short, short and mohawky and blond, with a little of zir natural dark brown. Zie touches zir long, undyed braid, the one that zie’s wanted to cut but never has, for reasons zie doesn’t even know. It feels like a step. But maybe zie’s ready to take it.

“I don’t wanna be presumptuous, like it was just ideas and stuff, but I just wanted you to know,” G’s looking into M’s eyes, and his face is like it always is, earnest and open and he is zir brother, and he’s still rambling on, “I just wanted you to know that I was on board with this and I’m sorry it took so long, but after seeing last night I just, I have to do something,” and then M cuts him off with a hug.

“I love it, G.” Zie says softly into his ear. “Thank you so much.” He squeezes zir tighter, and zie squeezes back, until they are squeezing as hard as possible and stumbling and laughing and then Ghoul joins in because of course, the cuddlemonkey, he couldn’t resist, and then Jet does, and his hug is so big is nearly knocks them over, and M is so so happy zie could burst.

“So. Are you gonna do my hair now or what?” zie says, cocking zir hip, and G gestures towards the bathroom with a grin.

~

They are spraypainting the Trans-Am today. It is, as G says, “kinda a big deal,” but it mostly is just fun. The girl has their own can, and spray paints quietly on the passenger door.

The only other open spot is the hood, and M and Ghoul stand over it with a red spray paint can, deliberating.

“No, we should have a ghost, cuz that would be punk as fuck, with, like, an axe in their head,” Ghoul is saying.

“But I think having a pill would be more meaningful—“ G is saying, and M has to cut in.

“Do a spider. Like the one Ghoul did on our lightpost. The first one. The beginning and the end.” M says.

Ghoul and G both look at each other, and then grin.

“How does it feel to be right about things very often?” G says.

“Great as fuck.” M says.

 “Why did you make a spider, anyways, Ghoul.” Jet says. “You’re terrified of them.”

“I don’t know, man. It’s like, I’m afraid of them, but that’s what being a zonerunner is all about.”

“Being afraid of spiders?” G says.

“No! Like, it’s about taking the things that terrify you and being proud of them, and like. Making them your battle cry. And it’s like, in the process, in the process of losing your fear. That’s what it’s about! Except it’s usually about deeper things than spiders. Whatever. It’s a metaphor.”

Jet laughs and throws the rag he’d been using to polish the mirrors at Ghoul, and M smiles and watches G shape a sharp spidery leg on the car hood.

Life goes on.


End file.
